Seducing the Rake (Mad, Bad and Dangerous Heroes) (39 page)

Chessy waved her hands restlessly. “I cannot say—that is, it is impossible to hope—”

“Let me worry about the hoping part, my dear.” The Duke of Wellington shot her a last, assessing look, then turned and strode to the door in that abrupt way of his. At the threshold he paused. “I bid you good day, Miss Cameron. I shall send you an answer soon. And until then”—he frowned, and the hardness of his face was more pronounced than ever—”do not leave your house unescorted. Not even for a moment. Not under
any
circumstances, do you hear me?”

“I—of course.” Chessy decided not to enlighten the duke about her own singular skills of protection. It was her father’s safety that she worried about, not her own. “I will do as you ask.”

As long as it suits my plans,
she amended silently.

“Very well. My compliments to you then.”

He strode from the room, a warrior engaged on a new campaign. Chessy wondered what complex strategies he was calculating in that quite fertile brain of his.

~ ~ ~

Despite his every resolve, Morland did not go to his study upon his return. Nor did he seek out Whitby and leave orders for a dozen pressing matters that he ought to have attended to.

Instead he climbed slowly up the broad winding staircase until he came to his bedroom.

At the open door he stopped.

For a long time he simply stood staring at the crisp white pillow. His hands tensed as he thought of blue-black hair scattered over white linen.

His arm was throbbing, but he paid no attention. His pain was of a different sort now.

He thought about all the times he had dreamed of Chessy right there in his bed. He thought of all the dark, bitter nights he’d told himself to give up, that such a thing could never be.

His hands clenched.

He tried not to think of other things then, other dreams he’d somehow held at bay for year after year. Dreams of a house filled with laughter, bright with flowers and the sound of children’s flying feet.

And he realized that Chessy had been in every one of those forbidden dreams, smiling, angry, adoring.

The mother of his children.

His nails dug into the wooden doorframe. It was too sweet to think of. She would never stay. And yet—was it right to think of trying to make her, if her heart was pulled to different climes?

He ran a hand through his bronze hair.

He wondered, then, if it had perhaps been in his mind all along to compromise her. To make it impossible for her to leave. He drew a long, unsteady breath, remembering that there might even now be a child, conceived in their night’s recklessness.

And he wanted that. Dear heaven, how
much
he wanted that. A child with Chessy’s violet eyes, with the delectable, unpredictable dimple nestled in the curve of her left cheek.

He cursed. No good letting one’s mind charge on. All the wishing in the world would not make dreams like that one come true.

He heard a low cough behind him. “Yes, Whitby?”

“I beg your pardon, my lord, but”—the butler frowned—”there is a
person
below. A most singular person. He professes to have private business with you.” The servant gave a sniff, as if to give his opinion of such pretensions.

“Person? What sort of person?”

“A young person—very young. And such clothing!” Whitby gave a delicate shudder. “All of the most disreputable sort. He darted in through the back entrance when Mrs. Harris was occupied and had the brass to demand to be taken up to see you.”

Morland’s eyes narrowed. “An urchin, is he? With a scar over his left eyebrow.”

“Well, as it happens, yes. But—”

“Don’t
dawdle
man, go show him in!” Morland strode toward the stairway. “I’ll see him in my study.”

Shaking his head morosely, Whitby made his way to the servants’ staircase, grumbling about the incomprehensible follies of the Quality with every reluctant step.

The boy was filthy. He was also sublimely unconscious of how out of place he was in the earl’s exquisite study.

“So, guv. I come to report, like yer tol’ me.”

Morland motioned him to a chair, after a dubious look at the boy’s battered hat and soot-stained trousers. “Would you care for something to eat? To drink?”

The boy shook his head. “Naw. Had my ration o’ grog for the day already. And I reckon I’ll be concluding my business, then shoving off.” He waited, his young eyes very sharp on Morland’s face.

“You’ll be wanting your money first, I take it?”

“Bob is bob, guv.” The boy’s jaunty smile revealed a row of gleaming white teeth.

Without warning Morland tossed a small bag through the air. The boy caught it without so much as a blink.

“You have your talents, young man. I’ll say that for you. And now for your part of the bargain?”

The boy peered into the cloth bag, made a rapid assessment of its golden contents, then stowed the hoard of coins deep in the pocket of his trousers.

“I like doing business wiff ye, guv. Knows just as how to treat a business partner. Aye, naught but
pound dealing
with ye.” He brushed a black strand from his eyebrow, his eyes glittering. “It were just like ye said, guv. There was three of them, dressed peculiar-like. Came up from the docks, though they made a great business of trying to hide it. Not that they could hide nothing from Barnaby Brown, mind ye. They was watching the lady’s house. Took turns of it, one of them going back to the docks every six hours. To report, I reckon.”

Morland’s face grew grim. “Did you find the place they came from?”

The boy’s eyes gleamed. “Didn’t I just! Funny sort of ship and a bloody queer crew, I can tell ye. Didn’t manage to get on board myself, o’ course, since ye was wishful to keep everything all secret-like. Here—I brung ye a map I drawed o’ the place. I watched it careful for near on two days. No one else came on or off neither. Just the men who come to report. Deuced queer, if ye ask me.”

“You don’t know how queer,” Morland said softly. “What about the girl?”

“All right and tight, she is. Me and my boys is keeping our eyes on the place, just like ye said. That niffy-naffy servant of hers is a game one though. Twice he nearly caught me sniffing round the mews before I piked off. Only other one—excepting yerself—who went in was that soldier nob. The Duke of Wellyton.” The boy’s eyes widened with fervent admiration. “Coo, he’s a proper dasher, ain’t he?”

Morland hid a smile. “So I am told.” He studied the eager figure before him. “You’ve done well, Barnaby. I trust you have a safe place to stow that gold.”

The boy smiled. “Don’t I just! And ye remember me iffen ye need any other work done. Secret-like, ye know.
Allers
find me up Cheapside way. They knows how ter fetch me there.”

Morland look as if he meant to say something more but sat back instead. “I shall keep that in mind. Until then you have my thanks. I am certain that I needn’t remind you that none of this business is to become public knowledge.”

“I should think bleeding not! A deal’s a bleeding deal, guv!” The boy gave Morland an affronted look. “Damned if I go back on
my
word.”

“I beg your pardon. It was foolish of me to suggest such a thing,” Morland said affably.

The boy studied him for a moment, then broke into a sudden smile. “Don’t reckon ye’re much foolish, guv. Not a bit of it.”

A crisp tap came at the study door. Whitby’s stiff features appeared. “I beg your pardon, my lord, but another missive has arrived.” He shot a disapproving look at the sooty urchin lounging easily in a now-smudged wing chair. “Shall I show the, er—young man out?”

“The runner is from Whitehall?”

Whitby nodded.

“Very well. Tell him I shan’t be above a moment. And—tell the children I’ll be down directly, if you please.”

With stiff reluctance, Whitby turned to convey his messages.

Morland’s companion nodded appreciatively. “Busy place ye run here, guv. Reckon ye got affairs o’ yer own to tend so I’ll be pushing off. But first, I reckon I should be tellin’ ye. Those queer sorts wasn’t the only ones watchin’ the house. There was another cove wiff the same idea. English-like, not foreign. Right clever bloke he was too. Thought ye’d want ter know, guv.”

Abruptly Morland pushed to his feet. In one swift move he tossed another full bag of coins to the urchin, who caught it with a yelp of triumph. “No need for that, guv. Paid up all right and tight, we are!”

“But our business is not quite finished, Barnaby. I have a message for you. One that must not be committed to paper. Can you remember it? And harder still, can you
forget
it—absolutely and utterly—as soon as it is delivered? It is to that, er—flash cove you mentioned. The Duke of, ah, Wellyton.”

The urchin broke into a jaunty smile that lit the dirty curves of his face. “Can’t I just! For a bag of shiners like that, I reckon I cud forget my own name! So speak on, guv. I’m all bleedin’ ears! Coo, wait’ll me blokes hear I was in the way of speaking wiff the Great Man himself!”

~ ~ ~

Chessy was just on the point of setting out for the Duchess of Cranford’s, as summoned, when Swithin knocked at her door.

“Someone askin’ fer you, miss. Out in the alley, he is. Young lad with dark sort of hair. Says as how he was sorry fer bothering you, but he had to see you before he went off.”

Chessy placed her chipped silver brush back on her dresser. Her eyes met Swithin’s in the mirror. “Before he went off?”

The servant shrugged. “Said he couldn’t stomach things no more at Half Moon Street and was setting off for a life of adventure on the high road. But before he left, he was wishful to have a word with yourself.”

Chessy frowned. “Was he a slender boy? With thick dark hair? About nine years old?”

Swithin scratched his chin. “Close enough, I reckon. But who—”

Jeremy.
But what could have driven him to such a desperate and irrevocable course?

Chessy was already on her way to the stairs. “Never mind, Swithin. I’ll talk to him myself.”

~ ~ ~

The carriage stood in the narrow mews.

Chessy looked about for the boy Swithin had described but saw no one. Then she noticed that the carriage door was slightly ajar.

“Jeremy?” She pushed open the door and stared inside.

A shadowed figure was huddled against the far wall, swathed in something that looked like a cloak. No doubt to hide his face when he crept from his father’s house, Chessy thought.

But it was the tricorn hat that made her breath catch.

“Jeremy! What are you doing here? You can’t really mean to run away.”

The figure only flinched and pulled his arms closer across his chest. The tricorn hat tilted lower over his face.

Chessy frowned, unable to see him clearly. “You can tell me, you know. I only mean to help you.”

“He
won’t miss me,” came the low, muffled reply.

Chessy thought he might have been crying. She climbed inside, searching for the words to begin. She could not possibly let the boy flee, of course. “Could you—would you like to tell me what happened?”

The draped figure in the shadows shook his head vehemently.

“Very well, but—”

Outside, the door clicked shut. Chessy turned in time to see a figure move away from the curtained window. Up front, the driver gave a shout and whipped up the team.

A moment later the carriage lurched into motion. And the door, when Chessy jerked at the latch, was locked tight.